


Don't Mix Your Drinks

by ThePenguinOfDeath



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: (I'm not sure), (Or non-canon), (probably), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon, Drinking, Dubious Consent, Excessive Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mortal-bashing, Regret, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:46:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3416390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePenguinOfDeath/pseuds/ThePenguinOfDeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are only two rules:<br/>1. Don't mix your drinks<br/>2. Don't mix with him</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Mix Your Drinks

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if I'm happy with this, but I'm not unhappy with it, so here it is. Warning for sex while one character is highly intoxicated but the other is not, if that's triggery for you. It could potentially be seen as rape or sexual abuse - I haven't tagged it as rape/ non-con as Darcy doesn't see it that way, BUT others might so just be careful.

Darcy threw back her head and laughed, the world spinning like a gyroscope. The drink in her hand sloshed alarmingly, brilliant red drops spilling onto the carpet. One of her companions – a SHIELD employee Darcy had forgotten the name of as soon as they were introduced – reached out a hand to steady her, his touch lingering a shade too long to be innocent. However, Darcy was too far gone to notice, grinning at him as she sipped the red concoction.

In the corner, Thor slammed yet another empty glass onto the table to raucous applause. Darcy joined in, finding the situation hilarious in her current state. 

“Another!” Thor cried, and the wide-eyed barman poured out a glass before Thor could throw his current one on the ground.

“Good call!” Darcy agreed, her words slurring as she said them. 

She quickly drained her cocktail, sliding the empty cup across the bar top. The barman nearly had to sprint to prevent it meeting its demise falling off the other side. He gave Darcy a nervous look before starting to prepare another cocktail.

“No, no, not that... gimme whiskey!” Darcy smirked at the man next to her.

The barman faltered.

“I think that’s quite enough, don’t you?” The smooth voice glided through the noisy bar, its tone making Darcy shiver.

“Mmm, no. Not nearly enough. Never enough.” She swayed a little on her stool.

“I’ll pay her tab.” A hand came to rest on Darcy’s shoulder, pale fingers holding her in place.

Darcy pouted, but her brain couldn’t come up with a comeback. The ceiling and floor seemed to have switched places, and a vague sense of nausea was taking hold.

Gratefully, the barman accepted a credit card, keeping a wary eye on Darcy as she blinked at a potted plant.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Darcy declared.

The barman looked terrified.

“No you’re not. I’m taking you home.” The man deftly entered a PIN number into the card machine, before grabbing both the card and Darcy.

“You’re not the boss of me.” Darcy slurred feebly.

The hand moved from her shoulder to her waist, supporting her weight as the pair ambled out of the door.

“Debatable,” the man commented, “as you are clearly in no state to be the boss of yourself.”

Darcy almost stumbled into a lady smoking a fag outside. She tried to apologise, before realising that she was no longer outside the bar at all – instead, she was in a surprisingly familiar green-themed bedroom.

“My, my, Darcy, what am I going to do with you?”

Darcy slumped against the wall, raising her eyes as her ‘rescuer’ stepped away.

“Loki.” Her tone was resigned.

“Yet again, I tell you not to go out, only to be defied. Do I need to put you in chains? Tie you up until you do as I bid without complaint?”

Darcy let out an unintelligible groan, only half of his words registering in her mind.

Loki started to pace, his green eyes gleaming. He was dressed casually – black jeans, a green t-shirt and a black leather jacket – but in Darcy’s intoxicated eyes, he looked like a delectable predator. He moved sinuously, closing in, and her brain registered danger and lust in equal measures.

As always.

“I have given you this lesson before.” Loki licked his lips. “Perhaps this time it will sink in.”

Had Darcy been capable of complex motion, she might have pushed him away. She might have run away screaming. She might have shoved him against the wall and kissed him senseless. But as it was, the alcohol was numbing her mind more than ever, so she did none of those things.

She barely moved a muscle as Loki’s arms caged her in, his face leaning down until it was millimetres from her own.

His kiss was like fire – burning, passionate, searing itself into her lips with determination. It was also ice – slow, resolute, building steadily to a crescendo of towering magnitude. Darcy responded clumsily, teeth clacking against his, and Loki chuckled at her lack of coordination.

“Such weakness you mortals have.”

Darcy tried to protest his statement, but her arguments were kissed away, and her drunk mind soon forgot them to focus on more important things.

Her hands dug into Loki’s t-shirt until he yanked both it and the jacket off, giving her access to his alabaster skin.

“That’s it,” He coaxed, “touch me. Repent.”

His fingers slid underneath the fabric of her dress, caressing the sides of her breasts. Darcy moaned, her body unsure whether to move towards or away from the sensation. Loki answered the question for her by sliding down the zipper, giving himself better access. Darcy gave in

“Naughty girl.”

Loki lowered his head to lick at one nipple, causing Darcy to throw back her head. It made contact with the wall with a dull thunk, but she barely seemed to notice.

Her mind was a haze of pleasure and confusion, muddled by alcohol into a jigsaw missing a piece. Her hands sought grounding by clinging to his chest, her nails leaving red lines like claw marks across it.

“Yess.” Loki hissed.

Somehow, Darcy’s dress was in a pool in the floor, but she couldn’t recall the action. Her bra was missing, somewhere out of sight, and her knickers had been kicked away. Loki was naked too, his cock erect and demanding. Darcy didn’t remember him removing his boxers, but then again, she couldn’t remember much.

“You want this.” Loki’s voice didn’t leave room for doubt.

Darcy reached for him, pulling him closer on the bed she hadn’t realised she was on. In fact, she was pretty sure she hadn’t been until a moment ago.

Loki hovered over her, the tip of his penis swiping over her warm folds. Then he guided himself down, and Darcy closed her eyes at the sensation.

There was pain – Loki wasn’t gentle, and his fingers left bruises in their wake. But Darcy’s hands left bruises too, patterned across his skin, and her fingernails drew blood when one particular thrust made her fingers dig into his back. Loki thrived on the pain, the roughness, the animal side. Darcy was carried on the wave.

Her orgasm built slowly – his fingers probed her clit as he thrusted, his mouth alternating between her lips and her breasts – but when she finally climaxed, it was like the floor had vanished beneath her.

It might have made her black out.

It might have been the alcohol.

She might not have blacked out at all. 

Either way, she couldn’t remember how Loki clutched at her as he came, spitting out words in a language she didn’t and would never know.

Nor could she remember when he slipped out, leaving her alone in the silken sheets of his bed.

/

Darcy pressed her hands into her skull, wishing she could crush the headache out.

Her hand fumbled to the left, finding a glass of water and an aspirin. She popped the tablet into her mouth and swallowed gratefully, sipping at the water as clarity slowly returned.

Darcy paused.

There shouldn’t have been aspirin next to the bed.

Her eyes opened, blinking against the brightness of the day, and she recognised the green of the covers.

No.

Not again.

Darcy’s head dropped back into her eyes, and she wished she could erase the last night. Scratch that, she wished she could erase the last month of nights.

“The two things you shouldn’t do, Darce.” She whispered to herself. “Mix your drinks, and mix with him. Both will kill you someday.”

So why couldn’t she stop either?


End file.
